Dream Chaser
by FirstImpulse
Summary: A new generation of street racer is taking over the racing scene in Miami, despite the best attempts of the Miami-Dade Police Department to shut them down. Highschooler Jose Chavez is the vanguard of this new generation, and dreams of becoming the very best. But can he achieve his dream while keeping his racing adventures secret from family and friends? (series ongoing)
1. Ignition

2-9-2013

William Lewis

All locations, street names, and vehicles featured in Dream Chaser are either real or hyper realistic. The story and its characters are fiction.

_Dream Chaser_

_Volume One_

_Chapter One: Ignition_

Speed. Competition. Thrills. The preceding three terms describe perfectly what a true street racer lives for. They are a misunderstood group, the racers. Many claim to be among them, but few actually have the skill, the dedication, or the passion for going fast. Those without these traits, who seek to impress others or attain cheap thrills, have often tarnished the name of the racers. It is in this environment that a young racer would attempt to become one of the elite. And not only one of the elite, but the best of them all. He had a dream, and would not stop until it was reality…

Northside Shopping Center, Miami, Florida, United States

June 2, 2014

The distant "_bwaaaaannn"_ of a high-revving Honda engine wafted over the night time mall parking lot. The moon was far overhead, casting an eerie shine on the blue dumpster next to the back end of the mall. The dumpster was set just behind a long ramp that rose from near the corner of the building along the side of the mall and connected to a narrow road that ran along the mall's roof, used as a service entrance for the upper level. The smooth growl grew in octaves and decibels, seeming to echo off the buildings at the top of the mall which the rooftop service drive ran between. Then, suddenly, when the growl was becoming a scream at its crescendo, it disappeared, then blasted out as if enraged at being silenced for a moment. The screech of tires accompanied the engine in its protest, giving added depth as the engine's scream quickly became a growl again. The sound of the screeching tires died down, and a pair of headlight beams appeared, headed for the ramp from the road on top of the mall. A tiny red hatchback blasted over the ramp and swerved to avoid the parking-space length curb extending from the corner of the small mall, just less than forty feet from the ramp exit.

The tiny hatchback's brake lights glowed to life as the screeching of tires returned, and the vehicle moved into the light of a light pole, the shine illuminating the young driver of the car for a split second. To him, the world was almost moving in slow motion. He had just planted his right foot firmly on the brake pedal, and used his left hand to violently yank the steering wheel to the left, canceling the car's earlier right swerve and using the weight shift from the car's left to right tires to knock the car off balance. The rear tires began to slide as the nose of the somewhat boxy yet streamlined hatchback rotated to the left. However, the car was still going to slide into the chain link fence that bordered the small road alongside the mall at this rate.

But lil' Jose Chavez wasn't going to let that happen. He reached down with his right hand and yanked on the parking brake handle between the seats, instantly locking the rear wheels. With an unholy screech they ground across the pavement, and accelerated the leftward movement of the nose of the car. Jose released the handle and planted his right foot on the gas, now causing the front tires to screech as they pulled the car forward and away from the chain link, rocketing the tiny car down the side street next to the mall. Jose stole a quick glance at his phone, which was propped up in a special holder affixed to the vents on the top of the center console, then focused on the parking lot rapidly approaching through the windshield.

_"I can still shave another second if I stay in first for the parking lot," _he thought momentarily before resetting his focus.

He hit the brakes with his right foot and cranked the steering wheel to the left with both hands, the view through the windshield becoming a blur for a moment as the outside world seemingly spun to the right as Jose cornered left. Now running alongside the mall, he gave a blast of throttle before getting back on the brakes, bringing the car back down to a manageable speed and cranking the wheel to the right to swing the car in that direction, dodging the main mall building and swinging around a light pole in the empty parking lot, headed away from the mall. A similar routine followed, a blast of gas, moderate braking, hard steering. He slung the car around to the left in a hairpin motion around a light pole near edge of the parking lot, swinging back toward the mall building. This time he depressed the gas pedal slightly longer than the two previous hairpins, and did not brake. Jose just swung the wheel to the right and held on as the motel-like façade of the Northside Shopping Center came within inches of his left side mirror, then planted the gas as soon as the car straightened out.

The engine's hollow growl turned into a scream once again as the car shot down the side of the mall, and then suddenly Jose slammed the brakes and swung the wheel to the right before yanking it back to the left. The car swerved one way and then cut back in the other direction in a question-mark like motion, headed straight for a ramp cut between two of the mall's buildings. The faded red Honda hatchback sped up the ramp as Jose gave the engine a blast of throttle, the sound of the power plant echoing off the concrete on either side of the tiny car. As the end of the ramp became increasingly large in the windshield of the car, Jose's brow furrowed and he quickly moved his right foot from the accelerator to the brake, slowing the vehicle _just_ enough so that it wouldn't catch air over the end of the ramp, and swung the wheel to the left.

The little Honda rotated onto the rooftop road between the upper levels of the mall, and a seven hundred foot stretch of open yet narrow asphalt greeted its yellowed headlights. Jose floored it, watching the tachometer rise in the corner of his eye while enjoying the feeling of being shot down the barrel of a gun that the long narrow road provided. He hit the clutch with his left foot, and used his right hand to slam the car into second gear, launching forth down the passageway. The colorful fencing and stores on either side of the road became a blur, and then the roadway's end came into view. Jose slammed on the brakes and down shifted, the tires squealing but not breaking loose. He felt the seatbelt tighten as if he'd been in an accident, holding him in place as the car decelerated. The end of the rooftop roadway was a small parking lot that had the exit ramp on one end of it, requiring a sharp left ninety degree turn to be made to get onto the ramp. Jose once again pulled a feint, swinging to the right to partially upset the car's balance, and then carving left by using the lost balance to rotate the car faster.

The tiny faded red hatchback's headlight beams once again shown over the exit ramp just before the car appeared from around the turn, blasting down the ramp.

_"Again!"_ Jose thought, pulling a feint and yanking on the e-brake handle, drifting the tiny Honda around the sharp and narrow corner, missing both the extended curb and chain link fence by inches. He floored it one last time, passing the start/finish line.

He exhaled and began braking, continuing along the narrow road at the edge of the parking lot while looking over at his phone. He tapped it's touch screen a few times as the car rolled to a stop, looking over its display with an intense expression. On the display was a GPS-based lap timer he had downloaded for free, and used to time his laps over the past year. His face twisted into a grin, and he pumped his left fist in celebration- right into the ceiling of his beloved 1991 Honda CR-X.

"YES- Owww…" he shouted and then whimpered, holding his left hand, which began throbbing in pain. But he was still smiling. The overall time for his last lap was 0:51.133 seconds, the best he had ever managed over the half mile course. Hundreds of previous times were posted higher up in the app's menu of dates. The earliest entries were over two minutes, and were set on dates in mid 2012.

Now Jose could finally post consistent times under fifty-two seconds, and was satisfied with his skills. Now he could finally challenge those in the elite and secretive Underground… Well, after school in the morning. Seventeen year old highschool junior Jose Chavez put the CR-X Si in first, and trundled out of the parking lot.

Miami Senior High School, Miami

June 3, 2014

The next morning, a tiny red Honda hatchback pulled into the parking structure adjacent to Miami Senior High, and swung into a space on the roof. Jose Chavez stepped out of the faded red CR-X with black trim, and tugged at his collar. He didn't like the school uniforms much, and the fact that his homeroom teacher was a stickler for tidy presentation didn't help. He turned and made sure the car was locked. He wasn't truly worried about it being stolen, but was so attached to the machine he named "Rockit" that he couldn't help it. He turned and gave "her" one more look, before quickly departing. He wanted very badly to see a certain other girl before heading to class.

He quickly jogged across the campus, checking his watch as he sailed past students and teachers heading to classrooms and lockers. The school itself was a rather imposing yet somehow beautiful piece of Mediterranean Revival architecture, originally built in the late 20's. It had just finished undergoing an extensive renovation and expansion, now covering more than three city blocks in the suburbs of northern Miami.

Now Jose had finished jogging across one of those blocks, and checked his watch. He exhaled in relief. _"Just in time…"_

At _precisely_ 7:14 AM, a blue 2013 Tesla Model S glided around the corner silently, and gracefully came to a stop next to the school. Jose stepped into the shadow of the school to hide himself, eyes full of anticipation with a hint of anxiety. The passenger door opened, and a shapely leg descended out of the stately electric sedan, a sandal-wrapped foot gently gracing the ground with the privilege of holding it up. Another leg somehow as beautiful as the other touched the ground, and out of the curvy sedan came an eighteen year old girl with striking grey eyes, long curly black hair cascading down her back, and skin with the color and smoothness of liquid milk chocolate. Jose's knees weakened. But he wasn't going down this easy.

The girl opened the rear door of the Model S and pulled her backpack out, swinging it on her back. She was thin, but certainly wasn't devoid of curves.

Jose took a deep breath as she bid good bye to the driver of the Tesla before closing the door and walking towards the school. He waited a few seconds… then stepped out the shadow and began walking in the same direction she was, then looked back over his shoulder as if by chance. She glanced up at him from a few feet away.

_"Perfect timing!"_ Jose thought triumphantly as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Ready for the last week of school, Elizabeth?" he asked in the most nonchalant way he could. Elizabeth Noble gave a slight smile.

"_Oh _yes. I'll finally have some breathing room around rehearsal. And you?" she replied and asked smoothly. Jose smiled.

"Ohyeah. I live for summer." He said with a tinge of nostalgia in his voice. Elizabeth's slight smile grew mischievous.

"Don't like school very much, do you?" she replied, giving him a look as they walked through the door. Jose was about to give the most cultured reply he could muster when the distinctive sound of his best friend being pushed into a locker came to his ears. He managed to avert his gaze from Elizabeth to look down the hall, and found Anthony Carter, age eighteen, trying to hold someone with pale arms in a locker. Jose could tell it was his best friend being bullied because he'd grown all too used to hearing that specific tone of muffled protesting, and seeing the two white arms flailing around, reaching out of the locker trying to find the face of the bully the school's faculty all but ignored.

Jose exhaled. "Some parts I don't. Sorry, I gotta take care of this." He said, jerking a thumb at the varsity linebacker and his prey. Elizabeth gave a nod, and in a slick tone said "Go get em, Tiger."

Jose walked forward and stopped in front of the altercation, and sighed.

"Come on, man, give the kid some slack. It's the last week of the school year. You really want his last days in school to be like this?" he asked, looking up at the senior who was nearly a foot taller than him and significantly stronger. Anthony looked down at Jose like he was a bug that he had tried and failed to squash.

"I don't want _this kid_ to have MY lunch money for the last week." Anthony rumbled, slamming the kid in his clutches even further into the locker. Jose made a face and reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He slipped a crisp ten dollar bill out of it before sliding the wallet back in his pocket.

"Will this cover it?" he said flatly, holding the bill out to Anthony like a jockey holding out feed to a horse. Anthony glanced at the kid in the locker, then at the bill, and then at Jose's face. He grinned.

"Aight." He agreed roughly, releasing the kid in the locker and reaching for the ten dollar bill. Jose smirked, and yanked the bill just out of the much larger Latino's reach.

"Yo _do_ realize that you're a walking cliché, right Tony?" Jose prodded, holding the bill up near his head. 'Tony' made a face that combined the worst aspects of a scowl with a confused look.

"Huh?" Was Anthony's reply. Jose shook his head.

"Look, man, you're a dumb jock who beats up underclassmen for their lunch money. Does it _get_ anymore cliché than that? Oh, yeah, it does, cuz' you date a cheerleader. Your being _born_ inspired all those crappy highschool movies. You're a disgrace to humanity, man." Jose concluded in a tone of pity. Anthony made a completely confused face before deciding to ignore Jose.

"_Gimme_ my money," he snapped, reaching for the cash again. Jose ducked and stepped under Anthony's reaching hand, sidestepping to the left and running down the hall, quickly joined by the kid who had just managed to wriggle free of the locker.

"Later Toe-ney!" Jose yelled, stuffing the ten back into his pocket with one hand and waving goodbye to Anthony with the other.

"Thanks, dude," the kid panted as they fled the scene. Jose grinned.

"You'd do the same for me!" he replied as both of them slowed down to a walk going around the corner. They stopped just before entering their homeroom, and Jose held out his fist. Skip Edwards bumped it with his, and they entered Ms. McCrav's homeroom with a mutual smirk.

/-\

\-/

Several hours later, school had all but ended. Skip and Jose were in the school's library, sitting next to each other at the computer terminals in the middle of the large well-lit room with high ceilings and big windows. They had been working on a paper due at the end of the year with a third partner, but had finished for the day.

"The way I see it, either I should get the Mustang or a mid-nineties Camaro," Skip opined, looking intently at the Craigslist page on the screen as he scrolled down. Jose scoffed.

"What you _need_ is a Civic," he stated, motioning with his head to the mint white 1996 Honda on his screen. Skip looked over and rolled his eyes.

"That makes less power than my dad's Malibu? No way dude." He replied curtly.

"You don't need all that power when you're driving a car and not sailing a boat." Jose retorted. Skip made a face.

"That Civic is _not _that light, man." He told Jose off, taking some offense to his family's prized 2010 Chevrolet Malibu being compared to a galleon. Jose nodded emphatically.

"Yeah it is! Like a thousand pounds lighter!" he implored. Skip shook his head, and opened his mouth to reply, before their third partner sitting next to him cut him off.

"It is," the blond girl said, initiating an awkward silence between the three of them. Jose and Skip looked over at the girl, each of them wondering if the two short words had actually come from her. Her very blond hair was held up in a bun at the back of her head and hung down beside her face in bangs, which framed the frameless glasses with rectangular lenses over her bright blue eyes. She was somewhat cute, but looked like a nerd.

The blank stares from the two boys her age made her uncomfortable, but she decided she had hung her neck out too far to pull back now. She looked down at the keyboard in front of her and then back up at the boys.

"Depends on the year, but the EK Civic is over twelve hundred pounds lighter than the late model Malibu by curb weight." She said, mustering her courage. All her courage was met with was a blank stare. She nearly panicked, but decided to delve even deeper into her encyclopedic knowledge in an attempt to spur a response from the car guys.

"The EK is about twenty three hundred pounds, depending on fuel and driver. The Malibu, assuming it's between an 08 and a 2012, is…" the girl shut her eyes and put her index finger to her lips, in what was apparently her thinking pose.

"…over thirty four hundred pounds, without the driver, or any options." She finished, eyes open again.

Skip broke the silence with a quiet question.

"_How_ do you _know_ that?!" he asked, eyes narrowed and head shaking slightly. The blond with the glasses looked down and blushed.

"My dad runs a garage, and I hang around him a lot. Nothing big." She said quietly. The boy's blank stares disappeared, replaced by admiring smiles.

"Oh, that's cool!" Skip said, face practically glowing with interest. He hadn't yet met a girl who knew anything about cars, let alone more than he did.

"I'm trying to choose my first car, but _this_ kid is giving me no help at all." Skip jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Jose, who frowned. The girl giggled.

"I don't think I've met someone so into muscle cars whose friend liked tuners." She said with a smile that was surprisingly bright. The two boys looked at each other.

"We grew up together. Can't choose your neighbors when you're six." Jose said in a sad tone with a shrug. Skip rolled his eyes.

"That's my line bro." he retorted, arms crossed. The girl smiled again at the boy's banter. And then seemed to remember something and looked at her watch.

"Sorry guys, but I gotta go… seeya tomorrow." Amy Stacy said, grabbing her backpack and awkwardly waving goodbye to the boys. Jose gave her a two-fingered salute as both he and Skip said "Later," watched her leave.

"She's a catch." Skip said confidently just after she left the room. Jose made a slightly puzzled face.

"You think?..." he asked distantly. Skip nodded quickly.

"_Any _girl who knows that much about cars is a catch." He confirmed. Jose smiled warmly.

"I don't know man, she just seemed… a little quiet, ya know?" he replied. Skip gave him a look.

"So you prefer em loud? Cuz you might as well ask Ms McCrav out then." He smiled slightly at the end of the sentence. In reply Jose put both his hands to his neck and hung his tongue out, pretending to gag.

Skip just barely managed to hold in his laughter, grinning widely. Jose finished his act and looked at the clock at the bottom of the computer's screen.

"Aw man, I gotta go…" he stood up and held a fist out, which Skip bumped with his. "Seeya later man." He said as he swung towards the door, receiving a wave from a still smiling Skip.

A few minutes later Jose had just started up his faded red CR-X and turned in his seat to look behind him. He gently released the clutch and watched through the large sloping rear window of the small hatchback, carefully backing out of the parking space on the roof of the parking structure. Then he heard an echoing screech, and just barely had enough time to hit the brakes to avoid hitting the streamlined 1995 Chevrolet Camaro Z28 whipping through the parking structure. Startled, Jose sighed and shook his head as he continued to back out of the space. He pulled out of the space and drove to the bottom just in time to see the arrow-shaped and smooth silver muscle car stop to wait for the barrier to swing up at the exit of the parking garage. The driver of the Camaro looked in his rearview mirror, then leaned out of the window, yelling back at Jose in his signature demeaning tone.

"Be careful puny, don't wanna hit that crap wagon!" Anthony Carter shouted back at the kid in the faded red CR-X, before flooring it and peeling out of the parking structure. Jose smiled slightly, rolling his eyes. He had gotten used to his prized Honda being ridiculed. "Rockit" was only a tiny red Japanese hatchback from the early 90's. But he considered that to be part of "her" charm… you had to push her to the limit to fully realize just how awesome the little lightweight two door hatchback could be.

Jose left the parking structure and drove south through the quiet suburbs, noticing that rain drops were falling on his windshield. He flipped on his wipers, then pulled a left followed by a right, turning onto the nearest main road to the school. Two hundred feet later he pulled up behind a jet black 2012 Dodge Challenger SRT8 at a stoplight, and found Anthony's Camaro next to it. The rain was coming down steadily now, and it surprised Jose when a measured rumble emanated from the silver muscle car with two black racing stripes. A similar but deeper rumble came from under the hood of the Challenger, a large and stocky modern muscle car.

_"Seriously?"_ Jose thought incredulously. The two American muscle cars in front of him each had at least twice the horsepower of the tiny hatchback, and appeared to be about to lay rubber to the next stoplight while the rain came down.

_"This can't end well."_ The driver of the little Honda thought as the light flashed green.

Both muscle car's rear tires spun on the wet pavement before hooking up and launching the vehicles forward, engines growling loudly. Anthony's Camaro got the jump on the Challenger and pulled an early lead, but two seconds later the Dodge blew past, finally making use of its over one hundred fifty horsepower advantage over the older Camaro. The two muscle cars seemed to cover the five hundred or so feet to the next intersection almost instantly, and the large single block taillight of the Dodge lit up as it crossed the crosswalk under the stoplights. The brake lights of the Camaro came on a moment later, and the two cars began to slow. Jose had barely made it halfway to the "finish line" at regular speed, when the glow from the Camaro's sideways-egg shaped taillights all but disappeared in a spray of water as it hit a low spot in the road and hydroplaned. A moment later the pointy nose of the streamlined 90's muscle car swung to the left out of the spray, and Jose realized the Chevy was out of control. It slid forwards directly into the right rear quarter panel of the chunky Dodge with a distant _crunch_, bouncing away and sliding to a stop facing the office building on the left side of the road. Jose shook his head, watching the big Challenger come to a halt a few feet away from the Camaro. _"Knew it. That's what you get, man."_ Jose mused.

He slowed as he approached the accident, and saw two men get out of the Challenger. They were slightly larger than Anthony, who stepped out of his Chevy seemingly in a panic. In the seconds before the red CR-X Si pulled even with the accident, an altercation formed between the high school senior and the two men. One of them threw a punch which landed squarely on Anthony's face, knocking him to the ground. Jose raised an eyebrow. _"Well, I guess if you're stupid enough to stoplight drag in the rain, you're not the brightest bulb…" _He thought, before things got bad.

The men started to kick the highschooler on the ground, who feebly tried to squirm away on the wet concrete. _"Ok, that's not right…"_ Jose started to get a bit concerned as he pulled nearly even with the accident. The driver of the Challenger seemed to be having fun, and swung and especially swift kick into the guy who had tormented Jose and his friends for their entire highschool career. He sighed in annoyance, then slammed on the brakes, changing the amount of pressure on the pedal so the wheels just barely retained grip as the car decelerated, acting as a human ABS system.

_"This is SUCH a bad idea…" _the boyish and short seventeen year old thought, leaning over and opening the passenger door as the CR-X slid to a hard stop on the slick wet pavement. The door opened to reveal the face of Anthony, who had just managed to squirm free of his attackers.

"GET IN!" Jose shouted. Anthony used the last of his strength to yank himself into the car and shut the door. Jose wasted no time, and floored it. The front wheels of the car spun wildly, showering Anthony's attackers with muddy water as the CR-X took off down the street, and throwing Anthony himself against his seat. Jose checked their surroundings as they swung a slight right onto 8th street and blew through an intersection, the little Honda's engine howling. He saw a large black muscle car swing in behind them in the rearview, and made a face. He hit the brakes and swung the wheel to the right, and the hatchback's rear end slid out as it rotated into a narrow parking lot that cut between two businesses. Anthony yelped, and Jose slammed on the gas and the front wheels once again spun, pulling the rear end back into proper alignment as the tiny red two door blew through the lot. A large pink 2010 Cadillac Escalade was pulling out of a space, and the CR-X squeaked by before bouncing back into the road on the other side of the lot. The young female driver of the Escalade screamed and slammed the brakes, sliding the big SUV out to almost block the entire passageway through the lot. The Hemi-powered Challenger overshot the turn into the lot and bounced over the curb, then skidded to a stop just before hitting the Escalade.

Jose checked his rearview mirror as they pulled into a neighborhood moments later. Anthony had just managed to snap his seatbelt on, and still look petrified from Jose's display of driving.

"Th-thanks man. I-I… I owe you one." He allowed with a face full of shell-shock. Jose gave him a no-nonsense look as he slowed.

"Hmph. You owe me a_ lot_ more than one, man." Jose told him without jest. All Anthony could do was nod emphatically. Jose shook his head and exhaled in disgust.

"Where do you live?" he asked in an extremely annoyed tone, not even trying to hide his feelings. Anthony pointed to a house just ahead. "There," he managed to blurt.

_"That's convenient." _Jose thought, swinging to the side of the road.

Jose watched as the bully limped into the small house with several cars parked out front, and then saw the phone vibrate in its holder on the dash. He slipped it out and saw that someone had left a voicemail just seconds before. _"First time someone's called me when I'm in a car chase..."_ He thought, forgetting that it was only his first such adventure. He hit the speaker function and played the message.

"Yo man, it's Kwan," the phone rumbled in the voice of a black guy in his early twenties. Jose perked up on hearing this, and listened intently as the message continued. "If you want to join the Underground, tonight's you're chance. Heard they're giving auditions at North Shore Park at ten. Good luck man, and see ya there if ya show." The _click_ of the connection dropping reached Jose's ears, but he did not hear it. All he heard was the time and place to prove his worth to the best racers of Miami. And it was tonight! This was going to be good.


	2. Welcome to the Underground

2-16-2013

William Lewis

All locations, street names, and vehicles featured in Dream Chaser are either real or hyper realistic. The story and its characters are fiction.

_Dream Chaser_

_Volume One_

_Chapter Two: Welcome to the Underground_

_North Shore Park, Miami, United States_

_June 3, 2014_

The sound was unmistakable. Even at idle the metallic black 1968' Dodge Charger rumbled in a way that made one's fight or flight instinct turn on. Everyone in the parking lot turned as the jet black muscle car rolled into their vicinity, headlights turning off and slipping into the grill of the smooth yet chiseled bodywork. The 440 big block underneath the hood would have drowned out conversations several feet away if anyone had dared speak in the car's presence. The big vehicle swung purposefully into a space near the middle of the lot and shut down. Quiet comments were heard throughout the lot which was minutes ago buzzing with conversations. The door of the Charger opened, and a large black boot stepped down onto the ground, and a large muscular man in jeans and a black t-shirt rose out of the car.

"_He looks like a friggin' superhero…"_ The comparatively tiny Jose Chavez thought from behind his little red Honda five spaces away. His friend Skip elbowed him in the shoulder, loudly whispering in his ear,

"_THAT'S HIIIIIIM! _Rank One in the Underground!_"_

Jose twitched from the high pitch of the whisper in his ear, and gave Skip an annoyed look. "Yeah, Skip, I can _see_ that." He replied, looking back out at the driver of the Charger.

He was leaning against the Charger with his big arms crossed, chatting with some guys who were apparently close friends of his, as no one else had the gall to do so.

The atmosphere had more or less returned to normal over the parking lot full of fast cars and the people who loved them. North Shore Park was really packed on Saturday, but even though it was just a normal weekday night the place was humming with conversation and rumbling with the sound of engines, as word had gotten around that members of the Underground would be present to hold "auditions." Five of them had showed up, four of those part of the elusive "Top Ten", or the elite of the already elite Underground street racing organization. If street racers were soldiers, the "normal" amateur racers would be Marines. Underground members would be Navy SEALs. And the elite of the Top Ten would be SEAL Team Six. They were that good.

One of the guys talking with the "superhero" nodded to him and began walking in Jose and Skip's direction. The teenaged boys unconsciously looked away as the man got closer, before hearing him say, "Yo, your name Jose?"

Jose turned towards the guy and showed a slight smile.

"Yeah. What about it?"

The guy looked over at the CR-X both the boys had arrived to the meet in.

"Whataya think about joining the best?" he asked, turning back to Jose with a grin. Jose's eyes widened. He had done so much to reach this point. To join up with the best.

His need for speed predated his memory. His early childhood days were mostly taken up playing Gran Turismo 3 A-spec, and later he moved to the Need For Speed series. His all time favorite was the Shift series of NFS games, which combined realistic racing with the adventure of taking a low end sports car and modifying the vehicle to be able to compete with the fastest vehicles ever made. His racing adventures in the real world started at age ten, racing his little BMX bike against other kids through his neighborhood. The thrill of competition mixed with the joy of speed was intoxicating to him. By age 14 he was contemplating building a go-kart, but decided instead on jumping straight into cars upon hearing of the legendary Underground of Miami. He bought his CR-X a week after getting his license at age 16, and immediate went out searching for a place to practice his driving skills. After managing to make a seemingly impossible urgent delivery for the owner of the mall he worked at, Jose had only one request in return. The request was granted, and Jose now had a closed off racetrack an hour after the mall closed every night. And he used this privilege every day, teaching himself the art of high performance driving through the autocross-like courses he set up through the mall's alleyways and parking lots.

Over the past year he had spent seemingly endless hours at the mall, perfecting turning, acceleration, and braking techniques. Faster, faster, and faster around the Northside Circuit, until one day he took the last turn too fast in pouring rain. He managed to avoid the fence behind the curb, but the curb he had slammed the Honda's front right wheel into had taken out the steering linkage, meaning he had to get the car towed to a shop for repair before he could even drive it, let alone race. The repair would cost over a thousand dollars, more than half of what he bought the car for, and way beyond what he could pay for. This meant Jose was heartbroken for two days, and then his dad said he'd cover the costs as Jose needed the car to get to school. And a week later, "Rockit" was back on the road, and Jose worked to re-master his driving technique and get over the fear the crash had injected in him.

…and all those memories fed the grin on the face of a kid whose hard work over the past year was finally paying off.

"Bring it." The little Latino challenged.

"Alright, this is how we're gonna do this," Matt Traveler, the driver of the metallic black Charger, said with a mix of authority and stoicism as stood up off of his car. Six drivers, including Jose, were standing in a circle around him. Skip was behind the circle in the throng of people listening in. Matt surveyed the six chosen ones.

"You six have demonstrated that you're potential Underground material. That means you've made a name for yourself around the streets, by racing fast, and more importantly, by racing clean. None of you have any major traffic violations on record, which means you know when to cut loose and when to hold back way better than your average stoplight drag racer. _One_ of you is gonna join the ranks of the Underground tonight. The place is a light industrial park just south of Opa-Locka airport, about a half-hour from here. Follow me out, and we'll set up the races when we get there."

And that was it. Matt grabbed his Charger's door handle and swung himself into the cockpit.

The gathered crowd seemed to disperse almost instantly, and Jose didn't have to push to leave the circle and grin at Skip, who was smiling at his friend's good fortune.

"Let's go!" Jose began to run for his CR-X, almost skipping from excitement. Skip followed, and in moments they were the second car behind the Charger, following it out of the lot.

After a few seconds the unbridled joy flowing through the interior of the CR-X was toned down by a mutual observation the boys made as they turned onto the street.

"The competition is gonna be hard." Skip said soberly, looking into the taillights of the autocross-spec canary yellow Integra Type R in front of them, complete with white racing stripes over the roof and trunk. Jose sighed.

"No joke. These are the only guys I've met I haven't beat yet. And all of them have more power, and more years behind the wheel…" then he looked at the Integra's Type R badge with a determined grin. "But me and Rockit can still beat em. Just need a little luck…"

Across the street, a black sports car sat back in a dark alley, the moonlight glinting off of its sleekly curved front fenders. The man inside narrowed his eyes at the cars leaving the parking lot. His machine had no exterior or interior lights glowing. The curvy sports car looked like the combination of a supersonic stealth fighter and a supermodel, sitting unnoticed in the dark. The man inside the sports car picked up a large radio with his right hand, and depressed the transmit button with his thumb, putting the device near his mouth.

"This is Capture. I've got about fifteen vehicles leaving the lot. Looks like some racers and possibly some spectators." He let off the transmit button, eyes still narrowed at the cars now leaving his field of view. The radio crackled to life.

"Central to Capture, copy that. Wait for a few and see if any more follow." A female voice replied. The driver of the car exhaled quietly in frustration, closing his eyes and then opening them again.

"Roger Central."

A half hour later the procession of fast cars pulled into a deserted light industrial neighborhood, the curb-less streets lined with small parking lots, behind which were assorted machine shops and warehouses. Power lines ran above a few of the streets, adding to the utilitarian atmosphere of the area.

The fifteen cars, including the six Underground prospects, drove nearly a mile into the deserted complex of streets and buildings, ending at a cul-de-sac at the end of the development. They pulled around the cul-de-sac and stopped, using it as parking space. The drivers and spectators stepped out, and Matt swung quickly out of his Charger to address the group.

"Alright. This'll be quick. Three races, two cars in each. The fastest time of the six of you takes the prize. I'll drive the course _once_ before hand to show you the way. If you mess up and miss a turn you're out. If you take _any _damage to your car in the race, you're out. Got it boys?" nods and affirmations were given in reply from the group. Most of the spectators were cleared by the Underground beforehand to act as spotters. Matt nodded. "Ok. Lets get it on."

Jose and Skip rushed back to Rockit and Jose stuck in the key and fired it up, pulling out to follow Matt's Charger and the five other racers through the quick drive of the track. The course was just over a mile long, and consisted of six turns and a chicane at the very end. Jose and Skip figured the track was a good mix of turns and mostly fifth-of-a-mile straights, but worried that Rockit had at least a hundred less horsepower than every other car that was going for the Underground. But they were also at least several hundred pounds lighter than every other car they would face, which they hoped would even the playing field a bit.

Ten minutes after they had begun racing, and just as the second set of cars was returning to the cul-de-sac, Jose looked over and realized who he was up against. The vehicle was a modern interpretation of a classic American muscle car. Large and boxy, yet low and angular. Jose and Skip wandered over to the car, whose owner had popped the hood to show off his handiwork, and a small gaggle of guys were around the bright yellow 2010 Chevrolet Camaro SS, chatting about the engine.

Skip and Jose stepped into the small crowd to get a peek at the engine. The power plant was more than four times the size of the engine in Rockit, with twice as many cylinders to produce power. Jose and Skip looked at each other.

"You're doomed." Skip stated. The owner of the car heard this and looked at Jose, grinning.

"Ah, you're the guy with the Honda?" he asked jovially. Jose raised one eyebrow and narrowed his eyes. The autocross Integra that had just finished its race was also technically a Honda, so this guy didn't know much about tuner cars, and probably looked down on them.

"I drive the red CR-X." Jose said flatly to the young guy with white shorts and a collared golf shirt. The guy continued smiling.

"Yeah, the Honda," he chuckled before continuing, "Why did you bring _that_ here? The Underground is for fast cars." this comment stopped any further conversation from the small group of guys peering into the engine bay of the Camaro, all of whom just looked between the two drivers to see where the verbal confrontation would go. Jose crossed his arms.

"Then why did you bring _this_ boat?" he asked irreverently. The guy, who barely looked twenty one, laughed out loud.

"So I could put the stomping on all you ricer kids!" he replied. Now Jose was mad.

"Us tuner kids are gonna womp your sorry tail." He retorted at the young guy with his newly-modified Camaro. The guy rolled his eyes.

"Surrrre…" and then a strong voice spoke from behind him.

"You ladies ready to race?" Matt Traveler, arms folded, said from just behind the Camaro driver, who like everyone else there, was noticeably smaller than Matt. The Camaro driver turned around and nodded, eyes wide, evidently scared. There was no change in Jose's demeanor.

"Yeah. Let's do this." He allowed, arms still crossed. He turned and began to walk to his car, and halfway there Skip caught up to him. He put a hand on Jose's left shoulder to stop him, and pulled alongside, speaking just loudly enough to be heard over the din of idling engines and conversation.

"Look, that guy was a douche, but you just can't win this one dude. You'll just have to come back next year." Jose just gave Skip a grin.

"Nah. Imma own this guy."

Two minutes later the two cars were at the start line. A guy walked in front of the two cars, and pointed at Rockit. The little Honda revved, a solid low scream emanating from the red hatchback. The man, a three year veteran of the Underground, then pointed at the angular muscle car lined up next to the Honda. The yellow Camaro bellowed out a deep roar, drawing cheers from the crowd. Skip, among the crowd, shook his head.

The starter held his arms above his head, and the Camaro's roar returned, completely overpowering the low rumble from the Honda.

The starter dropped his arms, and the race was on.

The Honda got the jump on the Chevy, but in a moment the Camaro SS had literally left the CR-X in its smoke. The Camaro laid down rubber for several hundred feet as its tires struggled to find grip while the driver stood on the gas, spewing grey smoke from the rear wheel wells as the muscle car tore down the road. Jose made the shift into second gear watching the Camaro shoot ahead, and just as he cranked up to third he saw the Camaro's brake lights turn on. The big Chevy was slowing for the first turn, a left hand hairpin.

Jose stayed on the gas until he passed the point where the Camaro had started braking, and then down shifted to second gear before throwing the car to the right. The Camaro had slowed down so much to be able to make the turn that as the CR-X swung left through the hairpin after the Chevy, it caught up the entire distance the muscle car's horsepower had managed to put between them in the first straight. Jose was hard on the brakes to stabilize the hatchback through the hairpin, but watched as the specks of dirt on the Camaro's license plate were lit up by the CR-X's headlights as the tiny Japanese hatchback very nearly tapped the Camaro's rear bumper. The two cars came within inches of a stop sign on the inside of the turn, and then blasted down the next straightaway. The Camaro once again left the CR-X in the dust as the two cars roared through the industrial park. Jose made a mental note to not get too close to the Camaro in the next turn, as the Camaro's driver apparently didn't have the skill or car to go through turns nearly as fast or as stable as Rockit with Jose at the wheel.

In seconds they covered a fifth of a mile, and the next turn was upon them. A ninety-degree right hander through a "T" shaped intersection, the roar of the V8 Camaro doing battle with the high-pitched rough howl of the Honda's high-revving four-cylinder.

The sound of the Camaro dropped off as its driver slammed on the brakes for the turn, while the sound of the Honda hit an extremely high pitch and stayed there for a bit before calming slightly. Once again the Camaro hit the brakes significantly earlier than the CR-X, and Jose first downshifted, engine-braking before actually touching the brake pedal. However, the Camaro driver pushed harder than in the first turn, apparently in response to the CR-X closing on him so quickly in that hairpin, and the result was frightening. There was a row of small trees on the outside of the exit of the turn, next to a beige cinderblock building. The car went wide through the turn and the driver hit the gas a bit too soon afterwards, swinging the rear out a bit, and missing the trees by twelve inches. Jose hugged the inside of the corner and nearly pulled even with the much larger muscle car before it tore away, then slammed on the brakes again almost immediately for the next turn. Jose grinned. The driver had forgotten the straightaway here wasn't as long as the others because of the pressure Rockit was putting on him.

Jose stayed in second gear through the third turn, a ninety degree right hander almost identical to the second turn, and blasted back out just behind the Camaro, which was now desperately trying to gain ground near the end of the race. It flew out in front of the Honda, down the fifth-of-a-mile straight section of road with a power line on the left and metal chain link fencing on the right. Jose made a face as the car's taillights grew smaller before lighting up. The second-to-last turn was the most complex of them all. The road gently swung to the right before an intersection. The left hander through the intersection would be followed by the road sweeping to the left. Jose watched the Camaro get closer as it hit the brakes before the right hander, while Jose got on the brakes a second later. He watched the Camaro swing left through the turn, constantly slowing and getting ever closer, while moving his left foot to tap the brakes while using his right to stay on the gas. This left-foot braking maneuver kept the front wheel drive hatchback stable at speed through the corner, and kept the nose carving through the turn. The CR-X was just a car length behind the Camaro as they both swung to the right, the Camaro driver becoming genuinely scared at the headlights in his left side mirror. The Honda used it's light weight to cut inside the Camaro as the two exited the corner, coming alongside and even with the Camaro, who in a panic punched the gas.

As the cars passed the intersection and swung through the left turn just after it, the Camaro began to pass the Honda, despite being on the outside. But the right rear wheel of the Chevy dropped off the grippy pavement and into the slick grass just next to the road as the car ran slightly wide. Because of the sheer power of the engine, the tire was off the pavement for just a moment as the rear wheels thrust it back into the road. However, being on the grass had sped up the wheel, and when the tire touched pavement it was moving faster than the left wheel, and almost instantly snapped the car to the left, in front of Jose and Rockit. Jose grimaced and snatched his right foot off the gas pedal on put it on the brake. He saw the Camaro driver over-correct while he was still on the accelerator, and the car swung back to the right, entering a spin in that direction. In the next moment Jose had jumped back on the gas, shooting past the Camaro. The spinning muscle car's headlight beams lit up the young racer in the Honda as it passed, the front bumper of the Camaro barely missing the door of the CR-X. The headlight beams then lit up the short yet thick tree the Chevy was inexorably sliding towards.

Jose heard a _crunch_ as the Camaro hit the tree grill-first, and thought _"Douche,"_ while swinging through the last turn. He tapped the brakes through the chicane, and crossed the finish line at over twice the posted speed limit through the industrial area.

Minutes later he was back at the start line.

He stepped out of Rockit, his exuberance at victory tempered by the accident. He jogged up to Matt, who had watched him pull in and was putting a cell phone back in his pocket.

"The guy I was racing spun and hit a tree kinda hard, he's probably fine, but-" while Jose was saying this Matt Traveler revealed a slight smile and then cut him off.

"Our spotter at the turn saw the whole thing. He's helping the guy. From what the spotter said, you've got some skills…" he looked out to the driver of the Integra, who was looking down and leaning against his car with his arms crossed, and then he looked back at Jose- "And you beat the second best time by half a second."

There was a short pause as the young racer realized what this meant while looking up at the best street racer Miami had yet seen. Then the veteran gave a lopsided grin to the dream chaser.

"Welcome to the Underground, kid."

\-/

Author's note:

This being my first weekly series, I seriously underestimated the amount of time to complete one ten-page chapter, and also neglected the planning stage. From here on out the story will become better laid out and better edited, and will come out every Sunday morning.


	3. Scramble!

2-16-2013

William Lewis

All locations, street names, and vehicles featured in Dream Chaser are either real or hyper realistic. The story and its characters are fiction.

_Dream Chaser_

_Volume One_

_Chapter Three: Scramble!_

Joseph Chavez exhaled, looking up at the ceiling and away from the computer screen. A program update this large normally took two days to complete, but was due in less than ten hours. _"Well," _the middle aged computer programmer thought, _"Better than being corporate."_ He had left Microsoft several years previous, and enjoyed not having to adhere to the corporate world he saw as uptight and creativity-stifling. He narrowed his eyes, peering through glasses at the ceiling in the room only lit from the glow of the computer. One of the main reasons he had left Microsoft was to spend more time with his teenage son Jose, but that hadn't worked out yet.

_"At least he's got some good friends..." _Mr. Chavezthought, wondering how any his pals during his own teenage years could've survived their own antics. He had raised Jose different than that. He wouldn't get himself into trouble, at least.

Little did Joseph Chavez know that his son would be involved in a high-speed police pursuit in the next few moments.

_Opa-locka Industrial Park, Miami, United States_

_June 3, 2014_

The sun had long since set over the deserted light industrial park just south of the Opa-Locka airport. The light clouds in the dark sky were lit up in bright white from the moon behind them, adding a mysterious glow to the cul-de-sac where roughly a dozen sports cars were parked. Matt Traveler had just put away his phone, and the young street racer standing in front of him was looking intently at his own mobile. He addressed the teen with the tone of a teacher.

"That hidden app gives you access to something called the Underground Network. It'll track your car during races and keep you in touch with the rest of the Miami Underground with an encrypted signal."

Suddenly, a low whir was heard over the low din of traffic from the nearby freeway, and everyone standing in the cul-de-sac stopped what they were doing and looked up. A slender black shape crossed in front of the moon, and in the next moment a spotlight erupted from the front of the shape, illuminating one of the buildings directly adjacent to the cul-de-sac. Matt, the seasoned veteran of the group of street racers, grimaced.

"SCRAMBLE!" he shouted just as the police helicopter's spotlight swung onto the cul-de-sac. The roughly dozen racers instantly bolted to their cars lining the circular end of the road, and in moments engines could be heard starting up as the Miami-Dade Police Department Eurocopter AS350 slowed to a hover roughly five hundred feet overhead.

The newly minted Underground member Jose slammed on his seatbelt just as Skip did beside him, then dropped the clutch as the yellow Integra in front of them took off down the street with a _chirp_ from the tires and a _arrrrrrnnnn _ from the engine. The line of fast cars was headed out of the industrial park at breakneck speed the same way they had came in, and as they passed through an intersection Jose saw why. Flashing blue and red lights were atop the large American sedans rushing down the street that abutted the one their car was speeding down, sirens just now switching on. The two teens in the faded red CR-X were equally scared out of their minds, but also knew to focus on getting out of the situation alive and hopefully without handcuffs.

While the cops were entering the industrial park through all streets in an attempt to box the racers in, the racers followed Matt out in a single file line, betting that they would able to burst through the blockade if they stuck together. They would now find out, as a Crown Victoria police interceptor slid to a stop on the narrow road directly in front of the racers. The line of fast cars jinked in unison, leaving the cop's ears ringing with the diverse engine notes flying past him as the racers clipped the grass before swinging back into the road, one after the other.

"Whoa!" Skip exclaimed as the Rockit swung back into the road, hot on the tail of the yellow Integra. They continued down the mostly straight and narrow road towards the exit, every vehicle in the line going at full tilt. Jose and Skip were being slowly left behind as the other far more powerful cars in the group pulled away. He just realized this as the phone he had stuck in its vent holder lit up, a large black pulsating "U" being displayed on the bright white screen. Jose jammed his index finger on the screen before shifting into fourth, and the screen switched to a map of the immediate surroundings, with many flashing red and blue dots converging on a few white dots racing out of the industrial park. The moving map was centered on the dot furthest from the exit, and Jose realized that the map somehow knew the locations of all the cops chasing after them and attempting to box them in. Skip looked down and saw that the white dot in the lead had breached the exit and suddenly slowed, moving in tiny circles. Skip wondered if the network had broken somehow when he heard Jose exclaim in solemn dismay-

"Oh crap," he muttered, seeing a large cloud of grey smoke rise from where the exit was ahead of them. "He crashed?" Skip wondered quickly. Matt had been leading the group, and would've been the first one to happen upon the cops who were headed for the same intersection.

"Looks like it." Jose replied as the cars ahead of them began braking for the turn onto the four lane Le Jeune road. He got on the brakes and downshifted, pressing both himself and Skip against their seatbelts as the car rapidly slowed. After getting the car back down to thirty miles an hour for the turn, Jose glanced to the left as he swung the car to the right, and saw what was making all the smoke. Matt Traveler had swung tightly to the left just as he exited the industrial park, and promptly began doing donuts. The resulting smoke screen from the immensely powerful Charger shielded the racers, and blinded any cops who were trying to follow. The blasting snarl from the ridiculous Hemi 440 under the hood of the Charger overpowered the little Honda's growl even inside the car for a moment as they blew past and out onto the road.

"Whooohooo!" Skip shouted in glee, looking behind to see the Charger blast out of the cloud of tire smoke and immediately begin catching up to the CR-X already an eighth of a mile down the road. But it wasn't over yet.

"Agh!" Jose grunted in astonished near-panic as a sleek jet black sports car powerslid out of a parking lot on the side of the road, trailing heavy tire smoke as the lightbar integrated aerodynamically into its roof lit up with flashing red and blue lights. The gorgeously sleek fighter plane like shape in menacing black effortlessly stayed ahead of the CR-X, as if the full blast of the Honda was not even parking lot speed for the stealth cop car.

"Capture to Central, I've got the Organizer in my rearview, a black vintage Charger." The policeman inside reported into a radio, his speech clipped and utilitarian.

"Copy that, take em down." A female voice replied out of the speaker.

Matt Traveler's black 68' Charger caught up to the speeding Honda in a moment, and for perhaps a second the black/red/black line of cars blew down the street in what looked like a convoy, the sleek black sports car with flashing police lights leading. Then that same black sports car's four square LED taillamps lit up, and in the next moment the Honda's headlights directly illuminated the embossed _Corvette_ logo on the back of the brand-new 2015 Corvette Z06 cop car. Jose clenched his teeth and got hard on the brakes, barely avoiding the rear of the sleek sports car attempting to box him in, and then he took a massive chance.

At a glance he saw there was no oncoming traffic for the moment, and swung the wheel to the left, bounding over the low grassy center divider of the wide avenue and screaming into the parking lot of a flea market. Jose barely managed to keep his prized CR-X out of the fence on the edge of the lot, braking heavily to stabilize the vehicle.

_"Did I get away?" _he hopefully wondered, looking in the rearview mirror.

To his astonishment he saw the Charger drifting at full bore into the lot, the cop's Vette inches behind. Matt had taken the same risk Jose had and jumped the low divider, tail out and tires smoking, his taillight glow flashing off the chainlink fence even though Matt wasn't braking. The low slung Corvette had somehow slowed enough to get behind the Charger, and abruptly followed as the Dodge jumped the divider.

"_Dang _it, these guys can DRIVE!" Jose exclaimed in equal parts frustration and admiration, dodging a parked cargo van and blasting across the large parking lot, checking the Underground map to see if the lot had an exit on the other end. It did, a narrow road over a bridge and through a rundown parking lot.

Jose suddenly found himself in a very autocross-like environment, just like his mall practice runs. Except instead of posting a quick time around and through a mall lot for fun, he was dodging concrete barriers with a street racing king in a 68' Charger and dangerous cop in a C7 Corvette on his bumper.

He blew past and slalomed through the barriers erected to control traffic through the lot, weaving an intricate and dangerous path through the hard walls of reinforced concrete. The Charger and Corvette followed his path, the Charger jerking and diving as Matt worked the gas to slide the large heavy muscle car through the seemingly impossible bends, while the Corvette stayed right on his bumper with considerably less visible effort and very little drifting.

They cranked through one last turn onto the narrow bridge, and as soon as they touched land again the Charger flew out from behind Rockit and screamed past, the Vette following suit immediately after. By the time The little red Honda hatch had reached the exit of the parking lot, the cop and racer duo had long since gone- although the smoke from the Charger's exiting drift still hung in the glow of a streetlamp.

Jose pulled out into the street and quickly slowed to the speed limit, putting the car in fifth to limit engine noise before rolling down the windows. The warm, quiet breeze that blew into the cabin was a stark contrast to what had just gone down, and while sirens and rotorblades could still be heard, they were fading away. But as the sounds of police cruisers and helicopters moved further away, the dueling howls of a twin-turbo Hemi and a nitrous-boosted Chevy LT1 rose in a strange, distant symphony. The two boys looked at each other for a long moment, both soaking up the incredible sounds radiating through the windows as the CR-X slowly cruised along.

"I'm PITing him!" Capture declared loudly into his radio, just after rounding a highspeed corner half a mile from the flea market. The Corvette's superior handling at speed let it walk up to the Charger through the shallow yet narrow turn through an intersection, and the modern fighter jet pulled nearly alongside the classic brick. Lieutenant George Lock looked over at Underground Number One Matt Traveler. Both of their brows were furrowed. Both had their eyes slightly narrowed. But the cop's expression was one of authority and confidence, while the racer's was of desperation and ingenuity.

Lt. Lock began to steer to hit the rear right quarter panel of the Charger, when red flashing lights popped up in his peripheral vision ahead of him. In the next moment he realized that the railroad crossing just a 150ft ahead of them was active, the protective gates closed. He instinctively got on the brakes and looked over to the Charger, expecting the racer to do the same- but instead all he saw was that expression of determined desperation on the racer's face as he floored it. The cop watched in horror as the beautiful black Charger raced towards its death in the form of the massive blue and yellow CSX freight train speeding into the crossing, all as the Vette was in the process of stopping on a dime.

Then, just as the train was entering the road area, the Charger blew through the protective gate, and then the mint 60's Dodge was gone. All Lieutenant Lock saw were bits of reflective red and white barrier tossed into the air from behind the train, along with a cloud of dust and some small metal pieces that began floating back down after a moment. The black fighter jet of the Corvette waited at the crossing as the train passed, and after ten minutes the last CSX car had passed, and the remaining gates began to lift. What was left of the Charger left Lock speechless.

Two short skidmarks and a cloud of dust from where the Mopar machine had touched down and kept going after _barely_ beating the train. The pieces of the reflective barrier had landed fifty feet down the street, the black metal pieces framing the lights atop it scattered across the roadway.

He got away clean.

The cop slowly touched his forehead to the Corvette's steering wheel and chuckled before looking up and down the road.

"Next time."


	4. Romantic Competition

7-12-2013

William Lewis

All locations, street names, and vehicles featured in Dream Chaser are either real or hyper realistic. The story and its characters are fiction.

_Dream Chaser_

_Volume One_

_Chapter Four: Romantic Competition_

Jose Chavez exhaled as the distant sound of his Honda's engine shutting down echoed through the parking structure directly adjacent to Miami Senior High. He leaned back in the driver's seat of his CR-X, taking out the key and staring out at the suburbs three stories beneath him. The sirens from the night before were still ringing in his ears. As well as his dad scolding him for being out so late on a school night.

That night left him speechless. He'd sped out of the area on 8th Avenue before dropping Skip off, then lumbered slowly home, a few minutes long trip that felt like half an hour since Jose's adrenalin was still spiking. He didn't sleep a wink, worried that the police had seen his plates or taken note of a little red Honda. The ride to school was nerve racking thanks to the police car that seemingly followed him practically from his neighborhood all the way to the school, but that Crown Victoria Police Interceptor in white and green had shot ahead of him a few blocks before the school, apparently responding to a call.

Yet, despite it all, he couldn't wait to do it again. The sheer thrill of racing full on against a far more powerful car, and _winning, _was something he had never felt this strongly. He was now a member of Miami's Underground, the elite group of street racers which, up until last night, were considered untouchable by the cops. And even then, it was very possible that all the Underground racers escaped capture. He had seen the short morning news piece on the 68' Charger that had raced a train and _barely_ won. The incident was spun in a way to make the racers seem reckless in the extreme, and while that particular case was _very_ reckless, the report didn't mention the location the racers were fleeing from was about as deserted as possible, and any crash would likely only hurt the driver involved.

Jose sighed. Not like there was any point in defending something which was illegal anyway. He wondered if there was going to be any talk of this in school as he opened the door and stepped out.

"Dige dou' see what happen' last night in Opa-Locka?" Amy Stacy garbled out while munching on an apple. The lunch room was full to capacity for probably the last time before summer recess. The two boys sitting across from her at the table gave each other a look and said "Nope," simultaneously. Amy swallowed her large bite of apple and then told them about what they had been a part of the previous night.

"Some street racers held a big race there, and one guy in a Camaro crashed into a tree. The police only caught him though, everyone else got away."

Jose breathed an inward sigh of relieve on hearing that only the douche with the Camaro had been nabbed. Skip was thinking of something else though.

"Did you hear that Anthony crashed his Camaro in the rain the other day?" he asked Amy, who blinked before taking another bite of her very green apple. She had the presence of mind to not speak with her mouth full this time, which she was actively beating herself up over on the inside. After chewing and swallowing, her voice revealed surprise.

"Oh, no. When did it happen?" she asked, very interested in how Miami Senior High's main bully had gotten himself into an accident. Skip happily obliged.

"Monday, right after school. The guy tried to stoplight drag a Challenger- in the rain." -he motioned with his head at Jose- "This dude was there. Hit a puddle and hydroplaned into the dude he just lost to." Jose smiled slightly at Skip's inventive storytelling, using his hands to illustrate how Anthony's car had hit the water and spun. While Jose was passionate and straightforward, Skip was analytical and technical. Although he still managed to sound and look like a surfer.

"Here's your food, Jose." Anthony Carter shyly announced, setting a platter of steak and potato chips in front of the much smaller teen. Skip and Amy stared wide-eyed at the biggest bully in school serving little Jose Chavez hand and foot. Jose just nodded.

"Thanks." he said with a notable edge. Anthony sheepishly looked around before saying "Seeya man," and walking quickly away from the table. Jose examined the steak for a moment before using his spork to roughly cut into the by far most expensive item on the lunch menu.

"Uh... What the HECK was _that?_" a stunned Skip asked. Jose grinned softly as he chewed on a piece of the steak, then swallowed the succulent meat slowly.

"Him makin' up for me having to save his sorry butt." he looked back down at the steak- "It might've been worth it."

"You saved him?" Amy asked, throughly confused. Skip, while shaking his head at the scene he just witnessed, confirmed this.

"Yeah, after the crash the guys driving the Challenger got out and starting beating Tony up, and Jose got stopped..."

Skip's voice stopped reaching Jose's ears as he spied Elizabeth Noble, legs and all, walking towards his table. He blinked, eyes a little wide, when she stopped just behind Skip, who was finishing the explanation. Elizabeth tilted her head.

"Didn't know you were such a hero, tiger." she admitted to Jose, the only one of the three facing her at the table.

Skip jumped in surprise, wheeling around in his seat to give Elizabeth an annoyed look. She was unfazed, giving him a cool smile.

"Mind if I take a seat?" she asked smoothly.

"Go ahead," Jose approved cheerfully. Elizabeth slipped in beside him, facing Amy.

"How's rehearsal going?" Jose queried excitedly. She smiled very confidently before answering.

"Moving along sweetly. We've only got a few days left, but we should be able to make it. I've got my part down, but the underclassmen are holding us up."

While Jose and Elizabeth had their back and forth, Skip raised an eyebrow and Amy cocked her head to one side.

"Are you going to help them?" Skip asked in a no-nonsense voice. Elizabeth closed her eyes and shrugged.

"They certainly need it, so yeah, I'm helping them out."

The three car enthusiasts all saw the aspiring actress very differently. Jose was in love. The combination of confidence and passion for what she did sealed the deal for him, on top of her general cool demeanor. Skip considered her an interesting person, mostly because she had the capability to be as technical as he was in terms of dissecting a scene second by second. Amy, on the other hand, was intensely annoyed at a person for the first time in years. How _dare_ she talk that way about the rest of the cast... she might be known throughout the school for acting prowess, but...

"Hey Liz'," another voice said from behind Skip. He craned his neck and then looked up to see a well dressed man who was at least two or three inches taller than both young men sitting at the table.

"It's time." he stated, his voice somewhat deep but without much authority. 'Liz' smiled her signature confidant smile and got up, waving to those at the table as she fell into step with the man- who wrapped his arm around the very lowest part of her waist. Amy was wide-eyed behind her glasses.

"Who is THAT_?" _she asked, visibly and audibly annoyed. Now Jose was just as annoyed, after seeing where the man's hand had gone.

"He's the theater director, Mr. Tawno. Creepy as a vampire and almost as pale." he answered, narrowed eyes locked onto the young teacher as he rounded a corner with 'Liz' and walked out of sight. Amy whipped out her phone.

"Do you know his first name?" she interrogated straightaway. Jose blinked, suddenly caught in her rhythm.

"Uh... Isaac." he answered slowly. Amy nodded and furiously jabbed away at her large Samsung device, adjusting her glasses before frowning at the screen.

"You're lookin the dude up?" Skip asked, not knowing she felt that strongly about the creepy teacher. Amy didn't answer right away, her eyes scanning the page on her phone. Half a minute of silence later she looked up, her phone still in her lap. The blond haired and blue eyed girl's expression was far more serious than any the boys had seen her wear before.

"He was tried for sexual assualt just eight months before he started working here." she revealed plainly, as if that was all there was to it. Jose's eyes widened as his jaw dropped. Skip was more pragmatic.

"Was he _convicted?_" he asked, giving Amy a stern look. He was surprised to see the normally shy glasses-girl give him an even sterner look in return.

"It doesn't matter. Normally you couldn't even go to court with a case like this. They thought they could win." she was all business, and taking no prisoners. Skip folded his arms.

"But they didn't, did they?" he chided. Amy exhaled in frustration. Jose's eyes were still wide.

"You think the school knows?" he asked quietly, with a hint of what seemed like desperation in his voice. Skip made a face.

"Probably not. If he got aquitted-"

"Then there is no reason the school has to know." Amy interjected forcefully, cutting Skip off. He gave her an annoyed look, but as their eyes met his face softened. There was a reason the nerdy car girl felt so strongly about this.

"She oughta be smarter than to hang around with that guy." Jose seethed. Amy nodded sadly. Skip shrugged.

"She probably thinks she can handle him. Not like she hasn't had creepers chasin' her before." The conversation stopped for a moment before a buzzing noise shattered the relitive silence hanging over the table.

Jose pulled out his phone, and the screen flashed white before returning to normal. He blinked. It was the Underground app.

"Uh, I gotta go... take a call." he fabricated slowly, getting up from his seat and walking towards the edge of the room. In a moment Skip and Amy were suddenly alone.

"How long have you known Jose?" Amy asked with an innocent smile.

"Since preschool. Grew up in the same neighborhood."

Skip was happy to tell. Amy's smile grew more nostalgic, looking at the table between them.

"Must be nice to have someone like that for a friend." she meekly said, making tiny circles on the table with her index finger. Skip nodded, his movement becoming less energetic.

"We been through a ton of crap together. Stakeboards, bikes, now cars..."

Amy perked up on hearing this, looking up and smiling.

"Still planning on a Camaro?" she asked. He nodded happily.

"Yep. Don't tell Jose, but I've already picked one up. A Third Gen IROC-Z."

Amy's eyes inflated. "What year? And color?"

"Eighty-Nine, and white with no stripes." Skip replied, a solid grin forming on his face. Amy grinned in return.

"Nice! But you don't want Jose to know?" she tilted her head as she said this, unsure of Skip's reasoning.

"Nah, I wanna surprise him."

Meanwhile, in the corner of the lunch room, Jose was already being surprised. He had run his finger in a racetrack pattern around the outside edge of his phone's screen, and the hidden Underground app appeared.

An event was scheduled for Friday night, and gave a location and race type, but no track. Jose looked up the address on his phone's own GPS app and found it to be a parking lot in an industrial district called Medley. The type of racing was Sprint, and all out point-to-point endeavor where all four cars involved would race at once. A wave of anxiety washed over Jose, triggered by both excitement and fear.

For a moment he wondered if the risk posed by the Police was too high. But only for a moment. He walked back over the table, a grin on his face.

"Yo Skip, what are you doing Friday night?"

"You're _what?_" a petite woman asked Matt Traveler at that very moment. They were sitting in his 68' Charger, the ceiling lights of the empty warehouse playing through the smoke that still hung in the air from Matt's practice run. He sighed as a waft of smoke passed over the hood.

"Getting out. Out of the Underground." He clarified. He knew Nat would have a problem with this, but he needed to tell her how he was feeling. Natalie Foster made a face and raised an eyebrow.

"Why? Was the train thing that bad?" She was short, thin, and athletic, with long brown hair. Matt never looked at her, but reclined in his seat as he narrowed his eyes at the grey smoke sliding slowly over the hood after the intense tire-shredding practice session.

"Facing death in racing is exciting. Facing death in a chase ain't. I've been the best for five years now. Time to hang it up." He stated firmly as the waft of smoke faded into the air.

"But you're at your best-"

"Because I've hit the limit of what I can do here. I can't go international because of the business. The police are targeting us directly now. The Underground ain't untouchable anymore."

Natalie's expression became more serious.

"So the cops put a little pressure on you and you quit? What happened to you?"

Matt looked at her, and she instantly shut up.

"Because of you. I could do whatever I wanted when I was alone, but…" he let out a frustrated sigh. "But I ain't alone anymore." He looked out of the windshield, away from his girlfriend, and saw all the smoke was gone. She hung her head, then nodded. Now she saw it how he did.

"Sorry, I just didn't-"

"Go practice." Matt cut her off. He was smiling.

"What?" she was confused.

"Practice. Clear your head. I'm getting out of the Underground, but I'll still race occasionally. And you still won't be able to beat me." He was still smiling.

Now she shared his smile.

"Sure, Matt." She retorted sarcastically, unlocking her door and swinging out, walking briskly towards a bright red Scion FR-S and pulling a key out of the pocket of her expensive jeans. Matt's smile grew into a grin as she swung down into her sports car. The couple had met when Natalie's modeling agency had hired out Matt's warehouse for a photo shoot. Natalie, one of the models working that day, struck up a conversation with Matt. This progressed into him taking her on a ride through his warehouse at full tilt, and she was instantly hooked. Fast forward a year and they were still together, and the thought of proposing occurred to Matt as the little red Scion buzzed and then rumbled to life.

The small red sports car's arching front fenders and long hood rolled past Matt's field of view, Natalie winking at him from inside the Scion before turning onto the start line, which was a painted white line that crossed from the north wall of the warehouse to the first of two rows of pillars that held up the roof. She hit a button on the GPS screen integrated into the dash, and a projector ahead of the instrument cluster on the dash shined a Heads Up Display onto the windscreen, a timer counting down from ten.

She looked in the rearview mirror to make sure Matt was watching, then grinned as she popped the car into first and hit the clutch before putting her right foot to the floor. The engine wound all the way up to a lofty seven thousand RPM, the roar of the engine matched with the hiss of a turbocharger as Nat let off the gas and made sure the tachometer needle was hovering at roughly three thousand RPM. While the Nitto tires her car was wearing were super-sticky, the surface of the warehouse was still super slick, and too much engine speed on launch would just spin the rear wheels.

The countdown reached zero, and Nat let off of the clutch perfectly, the rear tires hooking up and barely squealing on the concrete, speeding the car forward. The ceiling lights flashed off of the tall carbon fiber wing as the tuner car sped down the length of the warehouse, Natalie grabbing second gear skillfully and gingerly in order to keep up maximum speed without destabilizing the car on the slick surface.

Seconds later she was at the end of the warehouse. Nat lifted her foot off of the gas petal and hit the brake, while hitting the clutch with her left foot and downshifting with her right hand. Her left hand swung the wheel to the right, and while the toe area of her foot pumped the brakes, the heel of her blue and white sneaker nudged the throttle.

The braking destabilized the car and put more weight on the front two wheels, giving them the grip needed to turn in, but forcing the rear wheels to slowly slide out. Natalie's heel-and-toe technique kept the downshift from destabilizing the car more, and she calmly put her whole right foot on the gas. The Scion entered a deep drift, and Nat countersteered, measuring out the throttle as a steel pillar flashed not a foot from the little coupe's carbon fiber front splitter. The first pillar in the next row flashed by as well, and Natalie floored it on the exit of the deceptively complex double-apex corner.

The screeching howl of the tires echoing off the walls and roof subsided and was replaced by the rumble and simultaneous hiss of the Scion's turbocharged boxer four cylinder. She was rapidly approaching Matt's end of the warehouse now, roaring alongside the south wall of the building. The Scion's smoked LED brake lights lit up as Nat got hard on the brakes, coming into the second turn _very_ hot. She hit the clutch but didn't downshift, the rear end sliding out far as she whipped the steering wheel around in a wild countersteer. The ceiling lights played off of the carbon side skirts and rear diffuser as she cranked around in the drift, missing the pillar in front of her (that marked the very inside of the turn) by five inches and the one behind her by five feet. She was calm and confident as her right foot met the floor, a grin forming on her face as she felt the tires go from drifting to gripping, catapulting her forward. The FR-S flew down the center of the empty warehouse, the pillars flashing past the side windows, and then the next turn was upon her. It was roughly the same dimensions as the first turn, but reversed, and when outside the building.

She pulled a perfect heel-and-toe, putting the car into a screeching drift past the first pillar, but got on the gas far sooner, blasting through her own smoke from the first turn and out of the open warehouse hanger door and onto the dock. The Nittos grabbed the warm asphalt of the dock and and flung the Scion ahead, canceling its drift. Nat popped into third gear, screaming down the side of the Miami River at eighty miles per hour. Then came the last turn.

She pulled a feint, swinging the car to the right and missing the edge of the dock by seven feet before breaking into a drift to the left. The FR-S slid back into the warehouse and across the start/finish line, prompting a "WOOOOO!" and grin from its driver as she punched it and began the next lap.

Matt could tell how happy she was by the way she flung the car around. He chuckled, his smile broad.

This Friday was going to be good.

Author's note:

Just got my new PC and should be cranking out DC chapters quicker and better than before from now on. Please forgive the long hiatus! Should be able to put these out weekly now. Oh, and don't worry, lots more racing in the next chapter….

Stay tuned!

baOt. up toreplacedtabcorli the the swhe"of smoke Hey Skip, you busy Friday night?"


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